Batman: Legacy
by batman528
Summary: Six months after Bane's occupation of Gotham was ended and the death of Batman, former GCPD Detective John Blake has stepped in to be Gotham's new protector. But is he truly ready for the task?
1. Chapter 1

I would like to say that I do not own the rights to Batman.

BATMAN: LEGACY

By

Batman528

CHAPTER 1

Skeever had been working for months to set up the deal. Earning Blonsky's trust was no small feat. Blonsky was notoriously paranoid due to the fact he had been pinched by Interpol several years earlier. Since that time he had gone to excruciating measures to ensure his own safety. He never held a meeting without first doing an extensive check on the person he was meeting with, setting up the meeting place on his own, and dictating how the deal would take place. Doing business with Blonsky was painstaking, but worth it.

Looking around the apartment Skeever could see just how much the paranoia had gotten to Blonsky. The walls had been stripped bare so that no listening devices could be placed. In the kitchen where Skeever was sitting there were no doors on the cabinets. Everything was in the open where it would be impossible to place anything out of the ordinary. Skeever had arrived there a half hour early and had used the key Blonsky had given him earlier that day. Skeever liked to be early to a meeting in order to scout the place out and make sure it was safe.

Skeever heard the front door to the dingy apartment scrape open and turned around. Blonsky shuffled in, his boots scraping on the dusty floorboards. He quickly closed the door and chained and bolted it. He quickly took a seat and placed his bag on the table. He opened it placing the contents on the table in a neat fashion.

Skeever took a good look at Blonsky. He was in his forties and had thinning brown hair. He was wearing some incredibly shabby clothes, exactly the kind you would find on most Eastern European criminals. He was the kind of person you would take one look at and dismiss as just some fresh-off-the-boat immigrant who was living in the Narrows probably working at the docks. The reality was that Blonsky was one of the best smugglers in the world and was great at procuring high-yield explosives. He was the one you went to when you needed the best to get the job done.

Blonsky looked at Skeever across the table. He had laid out the C-4 and detonators neatly on the table. Skeever picked a detonator and looked it over. It was exactly what he had been looking for. After the destruction in Gotham following the invasion by Bane there had been a lot real estate that had been condemned. With the C-4 he would be able to get rid of some the condemned buildings and then some of his employers would be able to buy those properties dirt cheap and then sell them at a high rate to some property investors who would be able to build some high-end condos and shopping centers.

"Well is that what you wanted?" Blonsky asked. He was clutching the bag and squeezing the handle repeatedly. His legs were restless and were constantly moving under the table. _Jesus, this guy is on the verge of a nervous breakdown._ Skeever thought. He placed the detonator on the table and said "Yeah, these will do." He picked up his own bag and pushed it across the table to Blonsky. Blonsky opened it and began flipping through the bills counting. It was one of the rules you learned very early on, always count the money even with the other guy still there, just to be sure you weren't being cheated. And in case they did cheat you, they would be right there so you could put a gun in his face and kindly ask why.

Blonsky looked up and said "Alright, it's all here." He began to gather the bag when the lights went out. Blonsky quickly uttered a curse and Skeever could hear him draw a gun.

"What the fuck is going on?" Blonsky exclaimed.

Skeever calmly rose up and said "Calm down, power's gone out. Happens a lot in these old dumps." Of course he himself reached into his own coat just to feel the reassuring bulge of his own weapon.

And that's when he heard the bedroom window opening. He could hear the screech and scape of the wood as the window was pushed open. The bedroom was around the corner from the kitchen and so it was very easy to hear what was happening. Although Skeever couldn't see him, he could tell Blonksy was turned towards him.

"You sure you alone?" Blonsky asked.

Skeever could hear the accusatory tone in the other man's voice. "Course I am. Who else would I bring with me?"

"I don't know maybe some heat?"

"Shit, you think the cops would sneak in the damn window? If this was a raid they would break down the front door and be stickin' guns right in our faces."

He could almost see Blonsky shaking his head. "You never know, maybe police trying new methods."

Skeever shook his head and drew his own weapon. He could hear Blonsky moving across the kitchen towards the bedroom and even briefly saw his silhouette framed by the open window. He heard the bedroom door open and Blonsky shuffling quickly through the door.

Suddenly he heard "What the hell!" and then there was a struggle in the other room. He could hear a few muffled thumps and then Blonksy's gun went off. Blonsky cursed and then there was a louder thump and he heard something heavy hit the floor.

Skeever stood absolutely still. There was a very faint sound of movement as someone moved from the bedroom into the living room. Skeever made sure he was in the corner between the front door and the kitchen that way he had a full field of vision of the tiny apartment. Then suddenly he heard someone rushing towards him. He fired in the direction he thought he heard the sound coming from and from the flash of the muzzle he briefly saw a figure clad in black pirouetting out of the way. Skeever fired blindly into the dark hoping to hit the attacker. Muzzle flashes lit up the room but Skeever couldn't see where the intruder had went. He quickly moved to his right toward the other side of the kitchen since by firing he had given away his position and the attacker would be moving straight toward it.

Right as he got to the other side of the kitchen Skeever felt something hit him in his left forearm. He yelped in pain and quickly shook his arm to get rid of whatever it was that had stung him. And in that instant the attacker was on him.

Skeever felt another hand grab his gun hand and he yelped in pain as he felt his hand violently twisted and he involuntarily dropped the weapon. And then he felt a hard right cross connect with his lower jaw. At 6'4" and three hundred pounds, Skeever was no pushover. It was because of his size that Skeever had gotten his start in the business as a leg breaker. He had been in his share of fights and had always come out on top. But the hit he took was enough to rattle him momentarily.

He quickly reached out and grabbed the attacker. He felt his hands grab hold of the other person's shoulders. Skeever twisted and threw the attacker up against the cabinets. The cabinets splintered from the force of the hit and he could hear the breath go out of the other person. Skeever began shaking him while at the same time moving his hands to his neck. Skeever felt the other person grab hold of his forearms and try to twist out of his grip. Skeever tightened his hands and then swung the assailant around then slammed him into the table, smashing it to pieces.

Skeever fell on top of him and used his weight to keep the attacker pinned. Skeever had gotten his hands on the attacker's neck and began to squeeze. It felt like the attacker was wearing some sort of vest or body armor. He couldn't get a good enough grip on the attacker's throat but he still squeezed as hard as he could. He felt the attacker's hands on his forearms but it just wasn't going to happen. Skeever could crush steel cans in his hands, so crushing someone's throat wasn't hard compared to that.

Suddenly the attacker managed to draw his legs in. Skeever felt both of the assailant's feet hit him square in the midsection. It was enough that it loosened his grip and he came up off the floor. Skeever could hear the attacker quickly jumping up. He then felt something hard like a metal rod hit him on his left shoulder. The arm went numb and suddenly Skeever knew he was in trouble. He quickly tried to swing his right arm but he missed and then he felt a similar blow land on his right shoulder. His right arm was now just like his left. He tried to scramble backwards away from the assailant in order to get out of his range of attack and buy himself some time.

As he scrambled backwards he ended up in front the living room window with moonlight falling on him. He heard the thump of the attacker's boots as he advanced toward Skeever. He was moving very slowly, almost savoring the moment. He had Skeever and he knew it. He just wanted to make Skeever that much more anxious.

"All right goddammit, you got the drop on me, why don't you go ahead and get this shit over with?" Skeever yelled. He was done and he knew it. The asshole could have the courtesy of just finishing him and not make him wait for it.

And that's when he stepped into view. Just like Skeever thought he was dressed in some kind of body armor. It covered his whole body. It was a dull black, made so it wouldn't reflect much light. He had some kind of military grade belt around his waist with pouches going all the way around. There was a blue trim on the chest of the suit, which formed a vague bird shape. And he was wearing some kind of mask, just enough to partially cover his face. And in his hands were two metal sticks, the kind martial arts guys like to use.

"Man, who the fuck are you? A cheap-ass Batman?"

The attacker calmly looked at him. "No, I'm not." And then Skeever felt something hard hit the side of his head and he was out.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

The engine hummed silently down the street, the vehicle and its rider surprisingly unnoticed in a city that was constantly thrumming with life even in some of the most destitute and run-down sections. Papers and debris swirled in the late night breeze, reflecting light from the few posts that were still working. Lights were on, shining out of grilled facades and dingy windows casting a muted glow on the sidewalks and streets below. Trash piled up in front of stairways and in corners and alleyways adding to the gloom of a city that would eternally live up to its namesake.

And yet it was that same ominous setting that was such an allure to the millions that called it home. The towering and foreboding vistas made it feel as if a massive dark specter were constantly hovering over everything. People day and night would go about their lives always feeling as if the city were alive and watching them, _feeding_, feeding on the life essence of every soul in the city. It was that reason that so many would spend their whole lives in Gotham, even when there are cleaner and better places to live. They stay because Gotham City was one of the few places that had a real soul, a dark and secret soul that inwardly everyone worshipped.

It was this place that this one lone rider had sworn to protect. He had said an oath several years before that he would uphold this city's laws, and recently he had made a similar oath, one where he would still fight for the law but in a different way. He had realized that the law could constrict and bind it's peacekeepers as much as it punished those that offended it. It could tie the hands of those that chose to uphold it, making it a double-edged sword. He had come to accept that painful truth but he had chosen not to live with it. He had been given an opportunity to protect the city's citizens without being tied down by the limitations of the justice system.

And that is why he had been out on this dark night, attempting to uphold that new oath that he had sworn to himself over a month ago. He had been slowly working his way up, getting a feel for his new mission, learning on the go and making corrections as quickly as he could. The unfortunate part was that this was something that did not offer a lot a leeway in terms of making mistakes, because in this line of work it only took one mistake to prematurely end your future.

So with these thoughts weighing on his mind, he finally made it home. He motored through an abandoned construction yard, down a carefully concealed ramp-way into an underground lair. Lights covered the entire ceiling, not allowing one shadow to appear anywhere at all. It sometimes seemed strange why the previous occupant, who had made a reputation of living in the shadows, would choose to live in such a bright environment.

He rolled to a stop, cutting the engine. Climbing wearily off the two-wheeled vehicle he ascended the short stairs to the main computer. He peeled off his mask and plopped down into the cushioned chair. John Blake, formerly of the Gotham City Police Department, leaned back into the chair and thought _What in the hell went wrong tonight?_

Everything had been planned out. He had gotten the info on Skeever's deal a week earlier. He immediately planted a bug in Skeever's vehicle, and with that had been able to find out when and where the deal was going down. Planning his strike had been pretty easy once that was done. He visited the apartment building during the day to scope it out, checking all possible points of assault and avenues of escape. Broke into the apartment itself, walked around it repeatedly memorizing the layout. Done a background check on all the residents, just to make sure none of them were associates of Blonsky or Skeever. Rigged the fuse box to take out the power. Arrived there long before either one of them, waiting on the rooftop and listening with a bug he had planted in the kitchen underneath the sink. And when they both were in the apartment, he cut the power, descended down the fire escape and made his entry. And that was when it all went to hell.

_God, I felt like a rookie again. _When he opened the bedroom window, he hadn't counted on it making so much noise. The screeching from wood sliding on wood was loud enough that both of the perps heard it. _Might as well have just shouted and told them I was there._ Blonsky was the first to move and had quickly entered the room. Taking him down was easy but Blonsky fired his gun during the struggle which pretty much killed any chance of silently taking out Skeever. And when he confronted Skeever that's when it got really bad really fast.

First, Skeever had obviously heard him enter the living room because he quickly opened fire in John's direction. Of course John had the night vision lenses in his mask turned on so he saw the gun pointing in his general direction which gave him enough time to move. He had then quickly flattened himself, and that move saved his life because Skeever started firing blindly in every direction hoping to hit John. And then that was when he made his second idiot mistake of the night.

John had practiced for months throwing the modified shuriken he had created using Bruce's specifications, practiced enough that he could throw them with unerring accuracy. He was actually good enough that could throw several dead-on a little red dot drawn on a 3x5 notecard from twenty feet away. And yet when using them in an actual fight situation he completely missed Skeever's gun hand and hit him in his left wrist. That had been enough to slightly stun him but the point was to hit his shooting hand and John had screwed up badly. Luckily he was quick enough that he closed that distance between himself and Skeever and disarmed him by hand.

Which now brought him to big dumbass mistake number three. John had always been a good fighter. When he was young he got into scrapes a lot (because he was always pissed off) and with kids bigger than him and most of the time came out on top. When he was older and at the orphanage, it had been decided by some of the workers there that maybe training in boxing would help him to vent his anger and learn some discipline. He had loved it and over the years had also trained in various martial arts, so by the time he was an adult he had become a very formidable fighter. And yet when he went toe-to-toe with Skeever it was like it all went out the window.

The main problem had been that Skeever was over a hundred pounds heavier than him and if you know anything about fighting at all is that no matter how much training and experience you have at the end of the day size makes a lot of the difference. And Skeever's size and strength had almost been enough to kill him. Had John been anyone else he was sure Skeever would certainly have killed him. John's training and his body armor had been what had saved his life. Yet that didn't excuse the fact that John had tried to get physical with Skeever when John could have taken him out a lot easier using any one of the gadgets he was carrying with him.

_It was the heat of the moment that was all. _It certainly made a nice excuse in his head, but was that all? Was it really the adrenaline pumping in his system that had made him want to get into a slugfest with a guy who could deadlift the back end of a Buick? Or had it been a deep down desire, a primal urge, an inner thrill, to try and defeat someone so much larger with just his fists and his guts? A need to fulfill the inner rage that was always waiting inside of him, waiting to be unleashed on someone, anyone?

_Sometimes you will find yourself getting wrapped up in the excitement of it all, the almost intoxicating feeling of doing what most people only fantasize about. The ability to anonymously unleash your innermost demons on those that prey on the innocent, and never have to worry about anyone publicly knowing it is you and having them judge you. If that is the reason why you are doing it then you will fail. You shouldn't do this for yourself; you should do it for those that can't do it themselves. This is the lesson I had to learn early on and thankfully I had someone to teach me that._

Those were some of the words Bruce had left him when he had given John the Batcave and his legacy as Batman. Bruce had left John his whole journal on his time as Batman and as much as advice as he could give him. It was obvious Bruce had never considered a successor because in his journal it seemed he had written more for himself rather than as a guideline for a potential replacement Batman. The words of counsel Bruce had written for John (which John liked to call "The Batman Commandments") looked like they had been quickly created once Bruce had realized that he may not survive his battle with Bane and his mercenary forces and that Gotham would need a protector to carry on his crusade. Since reading them John had done his best to try and live up to them.

He leaned back and looked at the computer screens. They would automatically click on when someone stepped onto the platform which was kind of neat. A nice little touch Bruce had made when he had used this place as a temporary Batcave. Information constantly scrolled on the screens. APB's, 911 emergency dispatches, info on recently arrested offenders, info on recently released offenders, info on ongoing police cases, all of it constantly streaming and all of it right at his fingertips. The amount of work Bruce and Lucius had put into this must have been time-consuming to say the least but it was totally worth it. John had literal access to any and all police communication and even some federal agencies. Information was power, and with this much information John could keep track of any possible criminal activity anytime and anywhere.

He sat forward and began typing his report. Even though he had quit the force he still worked like a cop. Bruce had kept case files on some of the work he did but it was largely informal. It seemed as though he largely just memorized most of it. John didn't feel comfortable relying on just memory alone so he logged every bust he made and case he worked. During the past month he had largely focused on street level crime, taking down muggers, would-be rapists, assaults, convenience store robbers, and low-level street pushers. The Skeever deal had been his first real case. John dotted the i's and crossed the t's. After a half-hour he finished and sat back and rubbed his eyes. He could feel his back and arms starting to stiffen from the fight he had. _Probably going to have some bruises for a couple of days_ he thought leaning back in his chair. Bruce had left him instructions for training and honing his body, and also how to deal with injury. But of course little things like bruises from a beating weren't always easily taken care of. He would just have to grin and bear it.

He looked at the time and thought _Crap; I've got work in the morning. _Unfortunately unlike Bruce he didn't have the luxury of having a billion-dollar fortune to support him and couldn't just sleep all day if necessary. He slowly pulled himself out of the chair and descended the stairs. There was no way he was going to make it home and still have time to catch enough sleep. That was why he kept a cot here just for when he was too tired even to get back to his place. He stripped out of his armor leaving it on the floor where it fell. He crashed down onto the cot exhaustedly. For one minute he stared straight ahead and thought _Christ, Bruce how did you do this? _and then sleep crashed over him and he was dead to the world.


End file.
